


Langsam aber sicher

by AgapantoBlu



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Despite everything, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I don't describe anything and it's in the past but it's heavily referred to, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, MENTION OF:, Religion was used to justify the past abuses so there will be a short mention of that, conversion camp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 05:59:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10587885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgapantoBlu/pseuds/AgapantoBlu
Summary: He thinks Erik knows, but they never talked about it. Whenever Nicky searches for touch, Erik gives without asking questions, his arms always open to welcome and his palms warm as they run up and down his spine and his shoulder an uncomfortable but adored pillow that smells faintly of musk and cinnamon.He doesn’t believe he’s exaggerating when he thinks that Erik saved his life.Nicky's life in Germany is teaching him how to love himself again, slowly but surely.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please, check the tags carefully before reading the story. Among the other things, there will be mentions of past abuse in conversion camp, past suicidal thoughts (and one fleeting one in passing) and past homophobia. 
> 
> Everything that's canonically in Nicky's past, basically.

 

**_Langsam aber sicher_ **

_(Slowly but surely)_

  

It’s so soft, at first it gets lost in the sound of rumpled sheets and gasped breaths, of skin brushing against skin and the soft smacks of wet lips.

It’s deep in the night and the moon is just a lost memory behind the court of dark numbs of a far away thunderstorm that lights them up now and then. The rain is ticking softly against the window glass to his left, curtains open on the German landscape, and it helps camouflaging the muttering, the breathless sounds that come more from air than voice.

Erik pulls back slowly from kissing on his lover's throat, at first just impulsively following a curious glint in his mind, but when he lifts his gaze and realizes where the continuous litany comes from, his eyes widen.

“Nicky…?” he tries, but the boy in his bed shakes his head furiously, fists clenched on the blankets and naked chest covered in a soft layer of sweat.

His hair stuck against his dark skin looks pure black in the night, and lost is the shade of soft and warm chocolate brown that sunlight likes to kiss. His lips, usually stretched out in the brightest of smiles, are white and pulled into a thin line that trembles with pressure. His eyes are invisible, squeezed shut under long eyelashes and wrinkled lids. He’s breathing heavily through his nose, but the way his chest lifts and falls, hurried and spasmodic, betrays that something is wrong.

Erik is up and has a hand on his cheek in a second, their precedent activities the last of his priorities. “Nicky? Nicky?!”

The only answer he gets is that the boy jerks and his lips break open on a sob, and he turns his head to a side to push it in the pillow just one second too late to hide it.

Now, Erik is panicking too. He keeps on calling Nicky’s name softly, trying not to let his fear show, and his fingers push aside the strands to get a clear view of his expression. His lips are moving, his words just short of too low for the older to make sense of them.

He recognizes the language just a tiny bit late, an English that sounds a bit weird to his ears before he understands the ancient forms, and then he bends forward to try to catch their meaning and his blood freezes in his veins.

Nicky sobs his ways through just another “ _Holy Mary,_ ” before Erik’s shoulders slumps and his eyes widens in real horror of what is going on.

“Nicky!” 

“— _Mother of God,—_ ”

There’s no reaching him. The heavily accented voice calling his name falls in the short space between their mouths that feels like a deadly cliff and his body starts to tremble against the mattress. Erik dares to run his hands along the other’s arms and shoulders, but Nicky is lost somewhere in his mind, a dark place that holds little holiness inside.

“— _pray for us sinners,—_ ”

“Nicholas!”

The name makes him jump, breaking the string of words that sound like the pleading of a victim more than the prayer of a faithful man. He crashes like from high and his legs spasms under Erik’s thighs, but the other doesn’t move.

He waits, his pale green eyes searching the other’s face carefully, until Nicky moves his head to meet his gaze, and only then he dares to exhale his breath. Erik’s hands raise to cup his lover’s face and cradle it gently, thumbs stroking his cheeks.

“I’m sorry…” Nicky sobs, fat tears rolling from the corners of his eyes. It’s fine, Erik thinks, because it’s better than him keeping them inside and then having a sudden break down like now. He would take crying Nicky over delirious Nicky every day: this, he can help with. “I’m so sorry, Erik, I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Erik is not sure whom Nicky’s really talking to. Maybe him or maybe his parents oversea, so far yet still so demanding with their clutches still chocking the life out of their only son. Luther and Maria, Erik has never seen before, yet he has already decided them unworthy of his forgiveness, if Nicky is so desperate to offer his.

“I’m—”

“Nicholas. Nicky. Hey,—” He uses the plant of his palm to wipe the tears from Nicky’s face and he can feel the other tremble as he pushes back against the contact, desperate for it, “—it’s alright, _sonnenstrahl*_. I’m here. You’re safe, now, I promise. You're okay.”

It’s been three months since Nicholas Hemmick landed at STR, head hunched in between his shoulders and empty eyed like a lifeless doll. Erik had seen him from afar and felt a punch to his guts at the sight of such devastation; but the moment Nicky had spotted him, the mask was immediately on. Smiles and cheers could cover up most of his sadness, but there had been a hint of loss, a plead for salvation, in those soft eyes for the whole first month.

With time, Erik had seen the sadness dry away and honest happiness replace it in the shape of delighted squeals and offended pouts and eager hugs to any and all members of the Klose family. Nicky had been especially generous in his effusions toward Erik’s mother, Klaudia being all too happy to return every single one.

But happiness and acceptance and love don't heal a father’s handprint just that easy. They soothe the pain and help creating something new, but if you want to build a dam you need to be aware of the river.

Nicky’s past was no secret. The American boy was the kind of person who needed closure and physicality to heal, and whereas he received none in his biological family, he had been provided much and more by his adoptive one. Erik was still sure that many of the stories about the conversion camp Nicky had been sent to had been heavily censored when shared to them, but he was okay not pushing the issue. Only knowing that someone as genuinely excitable and sunny as Nicholas had been brought one step away from committing suicide was enough to get a general idea of how bad things must have been.

Erik presses his forehead against Nicky’s, hearing him finding his breath again and evening out his gasps. A hand touches his sternum and he stands still, his weight resting mainly on his legs and one arm, to allow his lover to feel his heartbeat through their touching skin.

He waits but keeps on whispering. Nicky’s name, mainly, and gentle reassurances. He considers calling his mother, a trained psychologist, but decides against it because the thought of leaving the other alone even just for a moment sounds like an absurdity. So he waits and talks.

Slowly, Nicky seems to come down from his panic. Whatever it was, wherever he was brought, Erik’s figure all over him, like a warm shelter of solid meat, is helping tearing through the illusions in his mind.

The broken prayer on his tongue tastes like ashes and broken vows.

Erik kisses his lips.

“Are you okay?”

Nicky’s nod is all but believable. Erik has learnt soon into the other’s permanence that Nicholas is more likely to take care of others than himself, and that half his smiles hides a self-deprecating thought.

He kisses him again, and this time he gets a soft response. He pulls back to check on his expression. “You sure?”

The storm is getting closer, now. The rain heavier against the glass and the thunders roaming through their bones like hungry grumpy elders. The lights of bolts reflect on Nicky’s skin giving it a weird shade, almost sickish.

“I love you.” Nicky jerks at the words, his eyes snapping open and wide in surprise, but Erik meets them firmly, unashamed. “You don’t have to say it back. I just want you to know, because I do. I love you. I wish you American had another word to say it so you'd know for sure I don’t mean it any less or any differently than my father does when he tells my mother. I love you as in kisses and double-sized bed and growing old together hand in hand.”

Erik is not sure this is the right moment to open up like this — he doesn’t want it to look like he’s only saying stuff to calm the other down —, but he knows Nicky needs to hear it, how much people love him and need him. His family is complicated, Erik got that much, and it seems nobody in there is big on physical effusions if not Nicky’s mother, Maria, and he himself. With how things turned out more than a year ago, any kind of affection had been taken away from the boy and Erik will give it all back, in words and touches and everything his lover may need. So screw the right moment, he’s going to shower Nicky in love at any give chance.

There’s a soft brush against his bicep that brings Erik back from his thoughts, and Nicky is there, laying on his back with his soft skin exposed to the soft night light and his shape printed in the mattress. His fingers tremble as their tips run up and down his lover’s arm and his lips open and close twice or thrice before settling into a melancholic smile.

Erik knows the mask is coming up again, knows that Nicky will make a joke within the next minute just to pretend he’s fine again and he knows that by the time the grass outside will have dried up Nicky’s smile will be as shiny as the sun itself. It tears him apart a bit, and a bit it settles his nerves, because that’s just how the stubborn brat under him is.

“Want me to fetch our clothes?,” he asks instead, bending down to kiss Nicky’s nose tip and letting relief washing over him as the other chuckle.

Nicky doesn’t answer. He’s rarely any vocal when they’re intimate, and Erik wonders sometimes if he’s just like that or if somewhere in his mind there’s still an instinct that yells at him to keep quiet and not get caught. Instead, Nicky moves his hand to Erik’s nape and pulls him down for a kiss on their lips.

It’s as much as a ‘ _keep going_ ’ as Erik can get right now. Nicky is bad with words: he either uses too many and takes twenty words to mean four, or he just cannot explain himself and ends up being offensive or inopportune without intending to. So when it comes to the important things, when it really matters to him and he’s trying hard not to fuck up, he gets quiet and he shows himself through acts. His body speaks better than his lips, often, and Erik is left to stare, amazed, at the show of Nicky’s frame leaning slightly toward Klaudia when they’re in a room full or people, or inching just shy of the priest, or his hand running to curl around the table corner when one of the small cousins comes running in the kitchen. It’s instinctive for him and Erik loves it, he can’t imagine not to.

They kiss and it’s soft and it’s warm and Erik slumps a bit more against Nicky to let their bodies flush to each other. Their half erections are fading already, excitement dulled by old memories and raw fears, but their chests are still blushed and sweaty and Nicky strains his neck to chase after Erik’s lips when he tries to pull away.

Nicky’s almost pouting. There’s still wariness and exhaustion in his face and the lines around them, but his lower lip is protruding a tiny bit; nothing close to the real deal, that Erik’s father has grown to consider a ‘lethal weapon’, but it’s a start.

Erik wants to kiss him _silly_ , or so he thinks they say in America. Not that Nicky is silly, but he can pretend to be quite often. It’s why all the children in the Klose family already love him as their favorite uncle. Erik has never really grown up either.

He kisses his lover’s lips. “We can always stop if you don’t feel up to it.”

Nicky’s answer is to arch his hips to rut against Erik’s. He’s got an arched brow and his voice is a bit hoarse as he says “Kiss me again”.

Erik obeys and deepens the touch this time, explores and plays and mentally gloats at every broken breath and moan he can strip Nicky of. Layers and layers under, he knows there’s still his overexcited lover, and he wants him back so he moves to kiss his jaw after a while.

Nicky’s hands move to entangle in his hair and they grasp and they pull and it hurts a bit but it’s such a physical reaction, so much better than his fists locked in the sheets, that Erik can’t bring himself to mind. He moves lower, instead, and kisses throat and clavicle and chest. His green eyes flicker upward with mischief as he detours his path and sucks on a nipple, and Nicky flicker his earring — on the left ear — in retaliation.

Good, Erik thinks, because it means he’s coming back.

“Impatient,” he retorts as he falls down on kissing a path down Nicky’s abs, and he gets a tug to his  hair and legs wrapped behind his as a payback.

“Slowpoke."

“ _Abwarten und Tee trinken.**_ ”

“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever told me in bed. I don’t even like tea! I like ice cream and if I have ice-cream on the backseat, waiting is gonna spoil it all! Silly German.”

Erik snorts against the turf of dark pubic hair. “You’re ridiculous.”

Nicky smiles. It’s a show Erik wouldn’t mind pay the ticket for, for every day of his life, so much he can’t believe this boy gives it for free so easily. It’s a patchwork of sunlight and lemon beer and the lighter shades of a table wood before getting set for a family dinner; the gold of sand and the white of snow, the warmth of hot cocoa and hugs. 

With his thumbs, Erik strokes the dips under the waist bones and thinks. He’s not sure it’s wise to keep this going, despite what Nicky says. Maybe exactly because Nicky says that. Nicky would say anything he thinks the person he cares for wants to hear; he’d tear himself apart for them. So, instead of moving lower, he kisses back on his path upward. Nicky’s spent cock doesn’t even twitch as his chest presses against it.

Yes, definitely not in the headspace for sex. Erik can work with that.

He kisses his abs one after the other and, when he hears Nicky lifting his head to complain at him, he blows a raspberry against his stomach.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Nicky is ticklish as hell. Erik loves it, even if his lover’s hands are now smashing his cheeks and nose in an attempt to push him away from the sensitive skin. “That’s _not_ sexy, Klose. Definitely not. Keep your European kinks for yourself.”

It’s a running joke that everything Nicky doesn’t like is automatically a “ _European kink_ ”. It had been hilarious having to explain it to his mother when Nicky accidentally let it slip when they got home after getting caught by a downpour. And tickles had been one of the firsts things to end up on the list.

Erik kisses the palms still forcing his face in a parody of his usual lineaments, but Nicky frowns at him, still unimpressed. He stares for a while before sighing.

“I ruined the mood, didn’t I?” he asks, in a low voice because that’s just how Nicky is. Boisterous and strong and powerful and terribly unsure. He never tells if he used to be like that even before the camp, and Erik dreads asking. It’s not going to change anyway, and he doesn't mind adding some reassurances to their usual conversations and intimacy.

Erik shakes his head as he can in the other’s grip. “It’s not your fault, you know it.”

Nicky doesn’t seem convinced, but he moves his hands so they’re cupping his lover’s face instead of distorting it. Though it was funny, he is a very superficial guy and Erik is fucking _hot:_ it’d be a crime to ruin that face of his. Stupid German genes with their green eyes and blond hair and firm faces and muscles and asses. Stupid _Klose_ genes.

Erik is still looking at him like he hangs the moon and stars, and not cockblocks him once out of thrice after leading him on. Nicky sometimes doesn’t get it, wonders if it’s all just a test, if someone will pop out of nowhere and tell him he failed so he’s going back to camp. 

He can’t go back to the camp. He barely managed to make it out alive the first time, and God knows he won’t make it a day if he’s thrown in there again. He can’t, he knows he can’t, and honestly it wouldn’t be worth it anyway, so if he’s going back in he’s not going to fight it this time, he’ll just end it once and for all because really it’s not worth going through that again, he can’t, he can’t he can’t he—

“ _Nicky._ ”

He jerks back to present to a kiss to his palm and delicate fingers closing around his wrists as if to keep them together and prevent him from slashing them open. Erik leans down on him some more, caging him in. He’s like an anchoring warm weight that steadies Nicky when his thoughts are a storm of hatred and disgusts and rejection, and it’s nice, so nice. He was so touch starved when he made it to Germany that the first time Klaudia hugged him he trembled with the effort not to cry on her shoulder.

He thinks Erik knows, but they never talked about it. Whenever Nicky searches for touch, Erik gives without asking questions, his arms always open to welcome and his palms warm as they run up and down his spine and his shoulder an uncomfortable but adored pillow that smells faintly of musk and cinnamon.

He doesn’t believe he’s exaggerating when he thinks that Erik saved his life.

Erik’s eyes are green, little in the sharp cuts of his eyelids, but oh so gentle. They’re bright through the lines of blond eyelashes bent downward. They’re asking a soft question Nicky nods to.

Kissing Erik is different from what Nicky expected the first time. The only boys he had kissed before were just that, boys. Hidden behind stairwells and cracked brick walls, kicking spurts of defying grass in an effort to look uncaring and to mask their unease. Erik is a man already; his shoulders are broader and he wears an hairband to pull his strands back from his forehead and he smokes red Marlboro and has a green earring and holds his hand in public and introduces Nicky as his _hot American boyfriend_ and laughs when people call him a bastard for snatching _such a babe_ for himself. Also, he has a stubble most of the time, because he hates waking up early and Klaudia has to yell at him at least thrice every morning to get him to get up, so when they kiss Nicky always gets his lips reddened.

He fucking loves it. 

“You really ought to shave tomorrow, you caveman.” Erik snorts against his skin as he moves his kisses from Nicky’s mouth to his cheek and then an eyelid. “What are you even doing? I know your eyesight is bad, but you should see that it’s not my mouth, are you getting worse? Oh! Will you have to keep your glasses on when we have sex? Because they make you _so hot_ , babe, you have no idea. Gotta hand it to your sister that she chose one fucking good pair of glasses for you, oh yeah. Not that I have something against your sister, you know I love her. In a very homosexual way though, like friends. And you’re still hotter than her. Don’t tell her I said that, though, I don’t want her to salt my coffe again, I can’t live without my morning coffee.”

There’s something relaxing in hearing Nicky rambling about stuff. Normally, Erik finds it adorable; when it’s about the Klose family, it makes his heart clench in happiness at how much Nicky seems to love them. In moments like these, it’s a damn big relief.

Erik rolls on himself without losing his grip on his lover’s hips. Nicky yelps but only glares at him before adjusting in his new position, lying on top of the other. He crosses his arms on Erik’s chest and leans his chin on them before resuming his endless chattering, feeling content with the hands drawing patterns on his naked spine, even if they lower to pinch his ass when he makes an underhand comment about this aunt of Erik’s and her questionable use of hair dye.

Every time he laughs, he leans forward and his forehead touches Erik’s throat and he can feel his pulse and it’s soft and steady, just like him, and it lulls him into a new headspace — a gentler one where he’s loved and cared for —, then into relaxation and finally to sleep.

He wakes up next morning to Klaudia yelling at Erik to get up and be presentable when they’ll come down for breakfast before Aunt Adelheid comes over for a visit, and he thinks it’s fine, it’s really fine.

Nicky is fine.

(Erik is _hella fine_ , but that’s another thing.)

**Author's Note:**

> *Sonnenstrahl: "Ray of sunlight"  
> **Abwarten und Tee trinken: "Wait and drink tea", meaning "Be patient".
> 
>  
> 
> Did I say that I love Nicky? He's such a great and under-appreciated character, seriously, give me more of this kid, I need it.
> 
> I'm not sure about Erik's physical appearance, but I have all my head canons about him so just bear with me ^^" I just want him to take very good care of Nicky because he deserves it so much. Same goes for all of his family, actually.
> 
> I know nothing about religious conversion camps except that they're the worst and an abomination that should not be allowed to exist because it's just a fucked up justified abuse. So yeah, there's that too. I think I mentioned every potential trigger in the tags, I really didn't want anybody to get triggered accidentally, but let me know if there's something wrong!
> 
> Find me at my tumblr: @agapantoblu.tumblr.com


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